I love exploring bible lands. My research of the Acts of the Apostles rekindled my memories of our visit to Cyprus. Next week I’ll tell you about what I saw but this week I thought it would be fun for you to see Cyprus through the eyes of a young, modern day traveler as we followed in the footsteps of the Apostle Paul. – Shirley
Cyprus is like the rougher, more rebellious sister of Greece.
March may not have been the ideal time to visit. But it was perfect for me. I don’t need bathing suit weather to have fun.
A good portion of winter’s sharpness remained in the winds that swept across the mountain that jutted out into the Mediterranean Sea. The island does not welcome you into its bosom with open arms promising sun, delicious food, and friendly people. Not to say Cyprus does not have all of these things. She merely invites you to explore her rougher facets first.
The cold air rubbed against my raw throat and stung my lungs. It blasted through my hair and cleared my eyes to the sight before me. I peddled even faster, not ever wanting the feeling to end. The setting sun sent brilliant streaks of gold, orange, and pink across the blue sky, setting the clouds ablaze as it sank slowly into the sea. The rosy glow settled on the small city of Paphos ahead of us, sending gold and pink reflections off the glass windows of the houses tiered against the old mountain. My family and I rode our bikes along the paved trail that extended along the shore of the Mediterranean from Paphos Harbor to our hotel. I felt a cold mist on my left cheek. I followed from whence it came, and saw another massive wave crash roughly into the porous, jagged rocks that separated us from the violent, icy ocean. I smelled the salt that was carried on the ocean mist. The pungent smell seemed to spur me further. Ignoring the burning in my thighs, I laughed and peddled faster. I had never felt so alive.
When I think of the week I spent in that country, two things stand out in my mind. The first is the woody sweetness of the delicious dried plums I made a habit of eating every morning, and the way I slept while I was there. I believe it was a combination of jetlag, the intense amount of physical activity that was contained in each day, and the immense volume of food I consumed per day. But sleeping in Cyprus was like falling into a deep trance. I liken it to a heavy rock being thrown into the center of a pond, and sinking rapidly to the bottom, not moving until someone comes to retrieve it in the morning.
My impressions of Cyprus that follow the initial two are many and vivid. The fierce wind, the rich, delicious food, the cobblestone street under my feet, the feel of my slick, wind-proof jacket, the way the white curtains floated in the breeze when the windows to our hotel room were opened, the cedar-like smell of the walls in the Elysium. I could go on.
Perhaps I will go back one day. Or maybe, I could just let my memories remain in my brain, undisturbed, like a pearl being held in a secret, velvet-lined box.